Spike'd
by Taishu Tsukitai
Summary: It's about ten years after Spike's been killed and Everyone's coping in thier own way. Jet goes criminal. Ed gets married. And Faye... well, THIS is what Faye does.


I don't think a pillow had ever felt quite so good.

My long, violet locks hung limply in front of my face, as limp as my body, as lifeless as my will to stay awake. But here's the thing; I knew that I couldn't fall asleep, no matter what. To be real, I hadn't slept in ten years. I don't think I ever will again, really. His face is burned into the back of my mind. I can tear it out usually, especially when it interferes with my work, but when I'm about to sleep, alone again and finally, he always comes back. Not physically or anything, I'm not insane. But I picture him in my head. And I can't get rid of him. Ever since he left me for some idiotic fantasy of his. Vicious. Pfft. I'm better off without Spike, I guess. He'd rather commit a murder than stay here with someone that loved him.

Past tense.

Knowing that I'm not exactly going to sleep any time soon, I sat up. A difficult feet under this much booze and so little sleep, but I did it. I checked in with myself to see if I was going to barf, but, no, I was okay, it seemed. For now. Often these days, I fantasize about how he died and can't old my bile in. My crummy little Mars apartment reeks of all the times that I wasn't able to make it to the toilet bowl. I try to cover it up with some deodorant sometimes, but the stuff I get is inherently cheap and doesn't do all that much.

I walked over to the wooden counter of my square room. Not much, really, but it had some food on it. Some corn. A couple cans of pull-heat noodles. Tea bags and the single cup that hasn't been repossessed or pawned off for drug money. Some edible panties. Hey, I get those for free at work, and frankly, I'm desperate for food. At least I haven't worn these or anything. I don't eat anything I've worn. Personal dilemma, I guess. I'm not one to complain about this all, though. At least I'm alive. I think I'm alive, anyway. I mean... I'm walking and talking and acting alive, I guess. So why do I feel dead?

I warm up the hot water in the rusty sink. It takes a while, but after a minute... tiring minute, I'll give it that... it starts to boil a little. That's what I let trickle into my cup. It's more of a mug, really. It says, "I 'Hear' New York" on the side. Wherever the hell 'New York' is.

Setting the bag of herbs and spices into the cup, I let it sit as I get a comb from the bed-stand besides my cot, and take off my red headband. The hair frees itself quickly, falling everywhere. It feels great, really. Really great. Like I'm not so caged up anymore. Running the comb through my pelt, I sit on the bed, waiting for the tea to ready itself for me. One of the few things that does itself for me, I guess. Back on the Bebop, Jet's cooking kept me pretty fed, but ever since, I've been losing weight. I can't cook much, and what I can cook I can't stand to eat.

The tea finishes a little later and I get up to grab it.

The handle of the cup feels warm, and thank everything. It's and Earth Winter here; cold in the day, colder at night. Snow all around. Street-corner Santas would be keeping me up if thoughts of Spike didn't. It's good weather for my job, at least; men get lonely in the cold, and so I get rich in the cold. Rich in my terms. That is, having a credit to my name. But at the moment, more precious that any credit, is that warmth in my hand. It reminds me of what I never experienced with... him. Never will, now.

Bringing the drink to my lips, I took a large gulp. Suddenly, I'm choking. Can't stop it, it just... happened. Slamming the cup onto the counter, I brought my hands to my throat and grasped for my life. But I couldn't stop it. I was choking, sputtering... not a good thing. I bent over the sink and gagged out whatever was there, letting it trickle out slowly combined with saliva. It was like vomiting, only it tasted a little better.

Did I really just say that?

I hate my life.

Finishing the drink quickly, I crawled into bed and stayed there.

* * *

I was taken back to reality from my dark thoughts of turning to the pipe by the blaring noise of my alarm clock. The thing was an old one, back from my own time. Where I should have stayed. Where I should have died. But I didn't. So here I am. I bash it with my hand for a second before leaning over and pressing the button in gently. Rolling out of the cot, I grabbed the deodorant from the bed-stool and sprayed all over. Good for room cleaning and body cleaning. Hey, it's not like I could afford a real shower. I really couldn't even afford the apartment without that housing check that Jet says he'd be morally bankrupt not to give me once a month. I wish it would be morally bankrupt him not to give me a little more. Enough for some decent food would be nice. Still, I can't blame him; he's at the ISSP again and they don't pay what they used to.

Leaving the room, I walked down the corridors of the apartment complex, arriving at the rickety old elevator. I hop in and let it take me down to the ground floor. No one else is on the thing, so it's a quick plunge down the thirty-seven floors to the bottom. Once there, the doors open to reveal... another hallway. Unimpressive, isn't it? It's been over a hundred years and still these places can't get more creative than a room and a hallway. Stupid, really. And the roads. They haven't changed either. I walk along one such tar-paved road to get to my employer's building. I'm already hiding behind my hair to avoid being seen, but the scant clothes that I'm so used to wearing tend to be pretty attracting to almost anyone... the young for reprimand, the mature for want, and the old for envy. I'm an object for all the hate, I guess, as I walk into 'Zero's Joint' bar.

I hate my life, have I mentioned that already?

* * *

The blaring lights and blacked-out windows were a sheer reminder that I was pretty much the scum of the earth. Or, rather, the scum of the Mars, I guess. A couple really devoted sensual addicts were there, a couple of them regulars that even I could recognize. There was Todd. He's the guy that we're all wishing won't ask for us. 'We' being the collection of ragtag riffraff that make up the bartenders, waitresses, and... well, the unwholesomes... here. I'm in all three categories because I can't pay off my bills any other way. But at least the pay's not horrible here, and it's nothing I haven't done before. I can serve drinks. I can serve food. And can serve pleasure. Not my style, in any case, but I can do it. I'm the most capable server ever born. That's me.

Walking to the back, Z... the owner... handed me my schedule without a word. Not surprising; he doesn't talk much. Just watches. I read it quickly, at a glance.

_7:00: Set up._

_7:30: Tend the bar._

_9:00: Wait on the tables._

_12:00 Tend the bar._

_3:00: Break._

_5:00: See me for night clothing and lingerie. Take customers._

_7:00: Wait on the tables._

_8:00: Shift over._

Only thirteen hours? Good. I could do without another fifteen hour day. I've been pulling those for a week and without sleep, I'm just a wreck. I look back to him, in his pink suit and purple tie and pimp's hat. He's a good man. At least he gave me a job. For a price.

I go about the day. I think of Spike seven times. I throw up four times. I go about the day.

* * *

Five o'clock. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I just spent two hours on a drug high, and I'm now wearing a red Sailor-Fuku, thin fishnets on my arms and legs, and no headband. Time for the real work.

I hate my... oh, forget it.

I made my way over to 'The Room' through the flashing lights and the music, which, somewhere between the drugs and the fact that Z turns the tunes up to 70 volume at night, made me want to kill myself. The room itself was familiar, and yet still crept me out a lot. The red floors with the flashing lights around the sides. The black walls. The bed. Now, don't get me wrong; it's a very nice bed. I liked the bed just fine. Soft, warm, relaxing, and dark enough of a shade of maroon not to make me want to hurl again, this time from the disgusting color. But what I did on the bed... well, I'm not proud of it. But I get paid well. Very well. Tips, too.

I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't think this is what I was going to end up doing. I didn't want to. But I don't have a choice. I need to stay alive.

You want that, right, Spike? You want me to live?

* * *

The first client comes in pretty late. I was trying to sleep... but I wasn't getting anywhere. I open an eye to see who it is.

Tall, lanky girl. Long orange hair. Rosy cheeks. Tanned well. Younger than I am. Well, it could be worse. It could be one of those sadistic asses that bring in the chains and everything.

I sat up and acted sexy. You know, flipped my hair over my shoulder, smiled and gave that look of innocence. Like this line of work was innocent.

"Hey, there, cutie. " I said softly. Girls like that, being called cute. This one just raised an eyebrow. "What? What do you want, hm? Anything you want..." I say, looking down. I'm a great actress. I guess after seven years, I should be. But this girl's not buying it. Eyebrow's still raised. So I guessed that I should just give her the get-it-over. "Come on. Let's just do it, okay?"

The girl smirked wide. I rolled my eyes. Great. I'll take the chains.

"Faye-Faye!" The girl said before falling on top of me and hugging me tightly. I felt my circulation get cut off. "It's me, Faye-Faye! It's Ed! I found you Faye-Faye!"

I blinked. "Wow. Never expected this. Alright, whatever. Let's do this." I said, sighing. It'd be a little odd, but in the end we all kind of figured that Ed was a lesbian, anyway.

"Silly! I'm bustin' you outta here!" Ed said, sitting up and holding her hand like a gun. Hm. I grinned a little at it. Still totally flat. At least I still beat her out there. Of course, I apparently also have more brains.

"Listen, twirp, I don't want to get busted out. I want cash. I want a steady relationship. But I don't want to get busted out." I sighed. "How did you find me, anyway?" I said, with a confused look in my eyes.

Ed winked at me. "Tomato!"

I reeled for a second. Were the drugs still on me? Then I remembered; Tomato was Ed's computer. So she used the internet.

"Hm. Well, unless you want to talk, can you please leave?" I asked with a polite annoyance.

"But I DO want to talk, Faye-Faye!" Ed yelled. "I have sooooooo much to say!"

"I'm expensive, kid." I said, now totally annoyed. "Who's giving you this money? A rich doctor husband?"

Ed nodded. I stared for a few seconds before slapping her.

"Hey!" Ed yelped, holding her cheek. "What was that for?"

"For living my life, kid." I said, my eyes clenched a little. "You have a rich doctor husband and I'm stuck here prostituting!"

Ed looked as if a lightbulb finally went on in that oh-so-empty skull of hers. Ten years and she hadn't changed at all... minus the fact that she was not super-model material, sans chest. "Oh! So THAT'S what this is! I thought it was a disco!" She proceeded to get up and start to moonwalk around the room. I sighed. I needed new friends.

"Ed, look. Just give me my money and leave. I have customers to... work on." Saying it, I realized just how disgusting this all was. And how little Spike would approve of it. And Jet! Well... if he found out about it... well, at least Ed's stupid enough to forget that I'm here tomorrow. I would be surprised if she remembered her own name if I hadn't written it on the tag of her shirt eleven years ago.

Ed sighed and slapped a card into my already outstretched hand. Then, she moon-walked away and out.

A couple minutes later, I heard a giant blast from outside. So she'd built herself a ship.

I looked at the Credits Card and examined it closely. Bless her. That's more money than I make in a year. Still wouldn't get me far.

Maybe she's not so bad after all.

I miss Spike.

A couple minutes later, I vomited again.

* * *

My day closed in front of a TV shop walking back to the complex, all playing the same thing. It was that idiotic Bounty show. Lots of numbers, no information. No chance of me making any profit off of it. But then a name came up that I knew. I knew it well.

:Howdy, all! Brand new on the market today; a convert from our own rowdy ranks, Jet Black of the ship formerly called Bebop has turned to crime, and has already stolen 600,000 credits worth of drugs and illegal parts for his ship! He's already threatened the ISSP and various planets with the development of what he calls "The Great Spike", a powerful alcohol-based acid that melts building, planets, and more! Due to the extreme nature of his threats and crimes, he's clocked at a whopping...:

I stepped away and shook my head. It was the beer that some guy said I should drink earlier. Had to be. Jet would never do that. Never,

Stumbling back onto the elevator, I let it take me back up to my room, where I fell out and collapsed on my bed.

Checking around for my things, I picked up a needle with some clear liquid in it. The smell was something like rubbing alcohol, but I knew better. I pricked myself before lying on the bed and waiting for my waking dream to take me away.

I thought back to the bounty show for a second. I could make some money off of that. And if I was lucky, Ed wouldn't have left yet. I could be back. I could live the life that I wanted after that, too, not splitting the cash with Ed, or her husband... they don't need it. And maybe I'd save more than one life; if it WAS Jet, then I guess, being that I'm the last living sane member of the crew, that it's my responsibility as his former companion to snap him out of this.

With the money I'd get from that, and my soul's new clarity, I'd live my own personal life. No drugs, like the ones that even now are taking me. No pain, like I feel for... him... every day. Just me. Happy again.

That's what you would have wanted, Spike, right? Live every day as if it were a dream, and dream as if it's life.

That's why we could never be together, no matter what I wanted. Because I envied you too much. You lived your dreams... and I dreamt that I lived.

* * *

Stay tuned in for Part two! 


End file.
